


Built Like Picasso

by AmateurScribes



Series: Bad Things Happen (to Grif) Bingo [9]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Injury, Gen, Graphic Description, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 23:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Grif's had to live with his body being a mish-mash of parts, a blend of dark tan and pale fair skin. Organs that weren't his, limbs that didn't belong to him. And he got to go on thinking that he wasn't awake for any of it.Simmons knows otherwise.





	Built Like Picasso

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with the bingos! Been really sad recently, so I decided to cheer myself up with some writing, _and ignoring my research paper ay_. As always for this series, all mistakes are mine, and I hope y'all enjoy!

Standing in just his briefs, Grif subconsciously crossed his arms over his chest to cover up the long and thick scars that remained from that surgery so long ago. Grey was in front of him, doing a routine check-up as she liked to call it, gently prodding away his arms so that she could poke at the scar tissue.

"Is this really necessary," he couldn't help but ask, glancing at Simmons who had decided to accompany him when he had gotten the summons from Grey.

"Absolutely, Captain," Grey dismissed. "After that whole kerfuffle with the Chairman I just want to make sure that all of your  _ wonderful _ organs are working to the best that they can."

"Yeah, but why me specifically," jerking his head towards the cyborg he continued, "Why don't you have Simmons undress and examine him, too?"

Simmons, who had been looking away the whole time, turned towards Grif to gape openly at him and blush, trying to think of something to defend himself, starting and ending sentences faster than his skin was going from pale to a ripe tomato.

"Because Captain Simmons already had his check-up when he was admitted to the medical ward for me to fix his cybernetic limbs," Grey said, saving Simmons from having to respond and causing Grif to roll his eyes.

"Whatever," he mumbled out, holding back from crossing his arms over his chest again as Grey leaned in closer.

"You know, I never quite found time to question you both on both of your physical states," she glanced back at Simmons and then lifted the arm that Simmons had so  _ generously _ donated to Grif. "Now that the whole war is over, I find myself with a myriad of questions- some more pressing than others I will admit."

Looking panicked, Simmons came closer, asking, "What? Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing of that sort," Grey let go of Grif's arms and picked up a datapad to mark down some notes. "Miraculously, Captain Grif is functioning, despite everything saying contrary."

"What do you mean," Grif looked at the doctor, wanting to see what she was writing down, because if there was something wrong with his body- and he just  _ knew _ there was because otherwise, he would have been out of the doctor's office by now- then he wanted to know.

"Your organ and  _ limb _ transplant surgery? It shouldn't have been possible, considering the circumstances- the resources available to you, the unsanitary conditions, the  _ severity _ of the damages- you  _ were _ run over by a tank, correct?" she asked incredulously. 

"Yeah," he dragged out and looking at Simmons he saw how the cyborg had stalled slightly at the turn in the conversation. "But if you're gonna ask me any more questions concerning that incident, I gotta let you know that I practically know  _ nothing _ about it. Sarge was the one who performed the surgery, and I'm pretty sure I was unconscious for all of it, and if not that, then doped out on some sort of drugs."

"I'll be sure to bring him in soon," Grey nodded. "If you truly don't know much about the whole ordeal then you won't be able to shed any sort of light on my questions. Let's move on with the check-up, shall we?"

Grif let the doctor do what she needed to do, but he kept glancing up at Simmons who looked like he was in an entirely different world, and he couldn't help but think about that day.

Sometimes late at night, he'd get phantom pains of a heavy pressure against his chest, but occasionally he'd feel a back and forth pain at the seams from where he ended and Simmons started, on both his left arm and leg. It was painful, but it was more often just discomforting. It'd leave him wide awake and he'd do his best to curl up in his bed, trying to sleep past the grinding.

He couldn't imagine what it would feel like if he had actually been awake for the whole thing.

* * *

_ Simmons hears the tank head back towards Blue Base, it's loud rumbling transforming into soft purrs the further away it got, and he has a brief moment of relief before his eyes fly wide open and he felt the air leave his lungs. _

_ Grif. _

_ He's racing out of the base and he turns to where he can see the mangled Warthog, the metal twisted and distorted and he hurries over, hearing Sarge and Donut follow after him. _

_ He can see faint traces of blood and something distinctly fleshy dragged against the ground in a trail leading towards the other side of the canyon, fading out not even a few feet away, mixing in with dirt.  _

_ Simmons hears wet gasping, a sound of someone choking on their own vomit and blood and he turns trying to find him- where is he- _

_ He sees Grif practically flattened against the dirt ground, a smear of flesh and pooling blood taking over his left side, the flesh was torn against his skull, eye wide open and nearly hanging out of its socket. The metal of the armor digs tightly into his body, some of it even seared into his skin from the pressure of the tank. There are tire tracks decorating whatever was visible in two parallel lines. _

_ Simmons wants to turn and gag, and throw up and pass out all in one, but he doesn't, instead, he races over to Grif's side- his right side, his only side- and collapses down. His hands hover over, and he so desperately wants to help, but he doesn't know how. _

_ He hears Sarge mutter, "Dear God," under his breath as soon as he reaches them both. Donut is right behind him, hands over his helmet, shaking and quivering in fear and guilt.  _

_ Grif is still gasping, and his helmet was crushed so Simmons could see his face, the wide and unseeing eyes, the blood spilling past his lips and down his chin. He's alive and Simmons feels horrible that he is.  _

_ Part of him wants to just shoot him, put him out of his misery. The amount of pain he must be in is probably immeasurable. There's no hope for- _

_ "Donut, go into the base and get me my cyborg kit and the med bag, now!" Sarge barks out, causing the pink soldier to turn and run back into the base. Simmons looks up confused at Sarge, who settles his hand against his shoulder. "Son, I can't save his life by making him a cyborg, I don't think he'd survive past the complications of that kind of surgery." _

_ "Then why-" Simmons starts, but gets cut off by Sarge. _

_ "Do you want to save his miserable hide?" Sarge asks, gesturing downwards.  _

_ A soft, "Yes" slips past his lips before he even has time to think about it.  _

_ "Then there's only one thing we can do," Sarge looks towards Donut who comes in, huffing and puffing, placing down the two wildly different kits. Sarge ruffles through them, pulling out all sorts of different tools, muttering under his breath about how he wasn't qualified to handle this, blaming the Blues for everything. _

_ Simmons watches as he pulls out a medical saw and pair of tweezers. He watches as he instructs Donut to move Simmons away from Grif, opening up space for Sarge to do what he needs to do.  _

_ It's as Sarge sits down next to Grif, grappling over whether he should remove the metal plates from Grif first or leave them in to halt the bleeding, that something changes. For as soon as he towers over Grif, Grif's eyes go from unfocused to focused, locking in on Sarge's helmet. _

_ "S-sarge," spills past his lips along with blood doused in drool. "I- I can't feel my body." _

_ "Fuck," Sarge curses, and a part of Simmons that isn't frozen in shock is surprised at the uncharacteristic swear from his commanding officer. "Donut, find me some type of drug, doesn't matter what kind." _

_ As Donut ruffles through the bag, pulling out pill bottles at random, only glancing at the titles to see what they were for before dismissing them, Sarge looks down at Grif and firmly says, "Grif, relax." _

_ Grif only has eyes for Sarge at the moment, and Simmons feels glad because if Grif had turned his head in his direction then he was sure that he'd pass out. "I can't- why can't I feel my body- I can't feel my arm- why can't I move my arm?" _

_ Sarge keeps repeating for Grif to relax, even as he looms closer to position the medical saw a little lower from the shoulder.  _

_ "Donut," Sarge growls out. Flinching, Donut searches a little more, but Sarge cuts him off, saying, "Forget it, we'll concern ourselves with that later when we deal with everything else." _

_ Donut backs away from the bag, but crawls closer to Grif instead, grabbing onto his hand and holding it tightly, and Simmons frowns because if only he could move his body, that would be him instead. But he's still frozen, his limbs unmoving and unrelenting.  _

_ Somehow, for one brief moment, clarity surges through Grif's pain-addled mind, and he looks at Sarge,  and in a voice that makes Simmons close his eyes and try to hold back vomit, he begs, "Please no Sarge- not my arm, please not my arm, plea-" _

_ He's cut off by a blood-curdling scream, and the sound of grinding of bones and tearing of flesh as the saw goes back and forth and back and forth, and Simmons closes his eyes, but there's no way for him to just turn off his hearing but he so desperately wants to.  _

_ He wishes that Grif wasn't awake for this. _

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I have no idea how the hell to proceed with a makeshift medical procedure like this, and this show is so lucky that this type of stuff isn't as absurd as the rest of it, but fuck does it make things hard to write. I did my best though!
> 
> My Tumblrs are: @agent-murica (main and where I am accepting prompts) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


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